WRITING: Poetry: At the Window

At the Window"
Venice was what we expected
And much more,
Dark arches passed overhead,
While you dipped your hand,
In the cool water,
Playfully splashing at me,
Strange how so much can be,
Laid upon that water,
Which ebbs and flows,
With a passionate rhythm,
And beats as two hearts,
While the moon is sweating,
Upon an empty bed and watched,
From a silhouetted window,
While a restless gondola drifts below,
Awaiting the attentions of tomorrow.
(1997)